


the soul in paraphrase

by keepitdreamin



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (i'm offended that's not already a tag), Alternate Universe, College, Getting Together, Matt is a bi disaster, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepitdreamin/pseuds/keepitdreamin
Summary: Instead of Matt and Foggy, Matt and Marci are best friends in college. When Marci starts dating Foggy, Matt finds himself jealous... but he's having a hard time telling who he's jealous of, because it turns out he has a crush on both of them...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tam_Cranver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/gifts).



> I am so glad I got this assignment because I've been meaning to write the three of them together for _ever_ and hadn't gotten around to it yet. So thank you! I finally got to explore this dynamic in a very fun way!
> 
> I did tweak the original prompt a little to have them in undergrad instead of law school, hope you don't mind!
> 
> The title and the poem Matt memorizes later is "Prayer" by George Herbert

Matt’s just sat down with his lunch after class when he notices Marci walk in to the dining hall. She heads right the table he’s claimed, and that’s when Matt realizes she’s actually walking  _ with _ someone. She knocks on the table to get his attention (she doesn’t have to, she knows about his senses but it’s for Appearances) and says, “Matt, this is Foggy. Foggy this is my roommate Matt. Guard our stuff, we’re gonna sit with you.” As she’s speaking, she’s already dumping her bags and jacket in the chair across from Matt and is walking away before Matt gets a chance to respond.

He rolls his eyes even though she’s already gone. “Hey Marc. I’m good thanks, how are you?” he asks sarcastically.

Foggy laughs and shifts a little awkwardly. “Hey man, it  _ is _ cool we sit with you, right? We’re not ruining your lunch plans?” Matt shifts his attention and gets the impression of warmth, hair to rival Marci’s own, and a touch of cologne that Matt surprisingly doesn’t hate.

“Yeah it’s fine,” Matt reassures. “You should grab food before the rush.” Matt can already hear people starting to leave classrooms in the surrounding buildings and the dining hall is going to be very crowded very quickly.

Foggy nods and then realizing what he did says, “Oh, I just nodded.” (Matt smiles a little bit, most people don’t bother filling him in on nonverbal cues.) He puts his bag and jacket in the chair next to Marci’s. “Be right back.”

-

The first time Matt had heard of Foggy was two weeks before winter break last semester:

Matt has been buried under final papers and study materials for the past week, and tonight is no different. He’s set up in the living room, books and papers spread across the coffee table and the couch. He’s living mainly off coffee and desperation at the moment, and, if he was still living in the dorms, he would be spending 100% of his time in the library. Luckily, he and Marci had gotten an apartment near campus last summer (because neither of them wanted to deal with Reslife anymore) and now as a Junior, though his senses are still constantly inundated with his neighbor’s lives, they’re not all college kids and it’s much quieter. Well, most of the time.

The door swings open, letting in a little gust of cooler air from the hallway. Marci’s heeled boots clack forcefully on the hardwood floors, and Matt can hear the tinny sound of music coming from her earbuds. She is accompanied by the usual Marci Smell™ (a combination of hair products, perfume that had been selected meticulously last year as the least likely to irritate Matt’s nose, and ‘no scent’ lotion) as well as the tell tale smell of Thai food from the place they like a few blocks away.

“Here make a space,” Marci says and Matt sets aside the book he was skimming and collects the wayward papers into a passable stack on the table. Marci moves a few books and sets the takeout bag down. She rids herself of her bag and coat while Matt gets up to grab plates and glasses, and when he comes back, she’s set up with her computer on the other side of the couch.

They dish out food and Matt picks up the book he’d abandoned, balancing it on the armrest to skim with one hand while eating. Marci’s doing the same with her computer and Matt’s just gotten comfortable in the relative silence of eating and keyboard clicking when Marci says, “Oh, so have I told you about this guy? Foggy?”

Matt nods and says, “Uh huh,” distractedly, concentrating on his book. Then what she says sinks in and he furrows his brow. “Wait,  _ Foggy _ ?”

“And that’s a real nickname he chooses to go by and not something I made up to see if you were paying attention which you  _ weren't _ .” She throws a balled up napkin at his head and he dodges it deftly. “ _ Anyways _ , he’s in my discussion section for that dumb anthro lecture? And he’s cool and one of the only tolerable guys in there, so we sometimes talk in class. He’s also pre-law and does debate which I know contradicts what I was saying about him being tolerable, but there’s gotta be an exception to prove every rule.” Matt nods along and she continues. “Well, after my study group today, I stopped by Pret to get literally any caffeine in my body and he was also there and we wound up chatting in the line and then sitting together and talking, and, you know, he might be more than just tolerable.”

“Oh?” Matt asks wehn Marci pauses.

“Yeah, but you know my rule ever since Montague, I don’t date anyone in my classes  _ full stop _ . But you know the semester's almost over…”

 

They’d “officially” started dating just after New Year’s. It’s been nearly a month and they’re still together with no major drama which is… frankly astonishing given Marci’s previous relationships. Not that Marci is a magnet for drama or causes it, but she doesn’t have a good track record for dating non-douchey guys. To be totally fair, Matt doesn’t exactly have a good track record for that either.

-

Marci comes back first, just as the lunch rush floods in. “So…” Matt says slowly once she’s settled down.

“Yes.”

“You  _ never _ introduce me to your boys,” Matt points out.

“Yes I do.”

“Yeah when you want me to run them off.” Marci shrugs because he’s not  _ wrong _ . “Do you  _ want _ to run him off?” (Matt hadn’t thought she would, she’d only said good things.)

Marci laughs. “No! I just think you guys could be good friends.” She pauses to take a bite of pasta. “He’s actually like  _ nice _ .”

Matt laughs and she kicks his leg sharply. “Sorry, but  _ nice _ doesn’t seem like your type.”

“It hasn’t been,” she agrees, then a little quieter, “maybe that’s the problem.”

Matt would probably ask more about that but Foggy comes back just then and the topic shifts to the most recent campus gossip.


	2. Chapter 2

Marci and Matt met when they were placed into the same orientation group, freshman year.

She sits next to him once they’ve gotten their brown bag lunches and are in a loose circle on the lawn over Amsterdam. Like most of them in the summer heat she’s wearing shorts and a loose tank top. When she sits, she pulls her hair into a ponytail in three quick movements, wafting the smell of honey shampoo, the sharp clean scent of deodorant, the slight chemically-ness of sunscreen and the underlying smell of sweat. Unlike some students, she hasn’t overapplied strong smelling body sprays in face of the heat and Matt appreciates it. (Their orientation leader was wearing so much “ocean” spray he almost couldn’t breathe walking next to her.)

Matt takes all this in while unwrapping his sandwich (grilled vegetables and hummus). He vaguely remembers her from the ‘go around in a circle and introduce yourself with a fun fact!’ they’d done before lunch. M something, he’s not sure of the name, but her fact had been that she free climbs in Colorado every summer, which was one of the cooler ones. (Matt’s own had been that he enjoys boxing and dancing. Lame, he thinks, but at least nobody asks--not loud enough for him to be supposed to hear at least--how he’s able to do that. They just moved on to the next person and Matt could sink back into obscurity.)

“God I hate that statue,” she says viciously, apropos of nothing.

“What’s wrong with it?” Matt asks after a moment, when it’s clear she’s not talking to any of the other new students sitting nearby. He can vaguely sense the big statue right in front of the Law School building, but the details are lost on him, just a lot of curving metal.

She huffs. “It’s so big and ugly and it’s worn down from weather in some places so the detail that made it even a little discernible is totally lost. It’s  _ supposed to be _ a guy taming a pegasus? But the horse just looks distraught and bent in half I don’t even  _ know _ what the wings are doing, and what does a screaming horse have to do with higher education? Nothing. It’s just dumb. Men shouldn’t be allowed to make art,” she finishes decisively. “Hi, I’m Marci.”

“Matt,” he responds automatically, a little thrown by her passionate rant. After a moment's consideration, he tilts his head and smiles. “What about the rest of the statues around here? Are any of them that bad?”

They spend the rest of the time talking about the statues and they wind up sticking together for the rest of the afternoon events. The next day, Marci sits next to him again and that’s apparently that.

-

Foggy’s nice and funny and Matt likes him immediately, which he tells Marci after lunch that first day. “Good,” she says, sounding pleased and smug. “I knew y’all would get along.”

Matt hadn’t realized that they’d had a class together (it’s only the second week of the semester after all and the professor hadn’t made them introduce themselves) till Foggy sits beside him the nest Tuesday. “Hey Matt, it’s Foggy.”

“Oh hey,” Matt blinks and then offers a smile. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I’d be  _ better _ if we weren’t being assigned 200 pages every week for an 8:40, but oh well, I knew what I signed up for.” He sighs and shrugs dramatically (which he narrates as well), and Matt chuckles. “Anyway, how’re you man? You look  _ way _ too alive to be in this classroom right now.”

“That’s the trick of the glasses,” Matt faux-whispers, conspiratorial. “You can’t see the bags under my eyes or how bloodshot they are.” He sits back and shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know why  _ everybody _ doesn’t wear them.”

Foggy laughs loud enough that three people turn to glare at them and one guy who’d been dozing off in the corner, startles awake and kicks his water bottle across the room. When the professor walks in, the dozing guy is still retrieving the water bottle, Foggy’s still got his face buried in his hands, trying to muffle the remaining giggles and Matt’s sitting back, smiling innocently.

Foggy drags him along to get coffee after class. Well, not so much  _ drags _ as keeps up a conversation while they walk and Matt’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t realize where they’re headed till they’re already in line at Joe’s. They stay there talking and picking over muffin crumbs until they both have to run to their next classes. And that, as they say, is that.


	3. Chapter 3

January turns into February, February into March. In between classes and papers and midterms, Matt is surprised to find that not only has Foggy stuck around, but he’s integrated seamlessly into their lives. Matt finds it difficult to consider Thursdays without Foggy joining him for lunch, or a time when he was not constantly aware of both Marci’s and his presence, even though that was his reality just a few months ago.

 

Matt’s struggling to memorize a 17th century sonnet--who ever said literature requirements weren’t fun?--so he’s distracted when he comes home one night, enough so that he didn’t realize Marci and Foggy were home until he’s got his key in the lock. _Prayer… church’s banquet..._

Now that he’s paying attention though, he can hear the TV on to some cooking show, smell slightly burnt popcorn (Marci prefers it that way, Matt’s learned to deal with it) and sense them sitting together on the couch, with a bottle of wine on the coffee table. Must be a date night. _Angel’s age… God’s breath..._  “Hey,” he calls out as he walks in, getting a return greeting from both of them. _Man… returning to his birth…_

As he enters the living room, intent on heading to his room to study the poem more, he’s waylaid by Foggy cheerfully telling him that there’s a seat for him at the end of the couch. _The soul in paraphrase…_

He stops, blinks in surprise. He doesn’t want to interrupt their date--even if the date seems to consist mostly of drinking wine and critiquing chefs on TV. “I was just going to hang out in my room.” _… The soul in paraphrase…_

Marci huffs and waves her wine glass in exasperation. “Come and sit Murdock. I know you, if you hide in your room, you’ll just study and you need a chill night.”

“And,” Foggy adds, “how can you expect us to drink these bottles of wine ourselves?”

“Bottle _s_?” Matt asks with a mostly involuntary smile forming.

“There’s another one in the fridge. So, letting us drink a bottle of wine a piece is just plain ol’ _irresponsible_ wouldn’t you agree, Matty?”

Matt doesn’t bother pointing that they’d still each be drinking two thirds of a bottle or that they could very well stop at splitting only one bottle. Instead, he drops his bag on a barstool and grabbed a glass and the bottle from the fridge, settling in at the end of the couch, where Marci immediately takes advantage and uses his lap as a footrest. Foggy pours him a generous glass, and he settles back, feeling warm and happy, as they proceed to describe, and critique, the chefs on the show.

_The soul in paraphrase… heart in pilgrimage…_

-

Marci has an accent. Not always, no, she’s very good at hiding it, but it’s there when Matt really pays attention, when she’s tired or drunk or happy, it slips out. It’s a little softer, the syllables rounding out long and slow. She grew up in Georgia, she tells him one night near the end of their first year when they were trading a bong and secrets back and forth. She’d lived there till she was ten and had the accent till the summer before freshman year when she’d trained herself out of it because she hated how everyone acted like since she was blonde and southern, she must be dumb. She was _also_ really freckled and still had a tendency to get so if she wasn’t careful with sunscreen.

Matt can’t remember so he asks curiously if _he_ has any freckles which leads to Marci inspecting his face and poking around his nose till he scrunches it up at her. She laughs loudly and leans back, declaring him “freckle free. But maybe you’d have some if you ever spent any time outside and away from those books _god_ Matt you’re such a nerd.” Matt laughs too and the conversation moves on.

(Matt considers, but he doesn’t tell her his Big Secret that night.)

Matt loves those little slips more than he probably should and he could listen to Marci speak like that, soft and slow and a little deeper than usual, for the rest of his life if she’d let him.

The other hint of her upbringing, other than the occasional accent slip and her strong detest for anything New Yorkers try to label “sweet tea,” is her secret love of country music. Not mainstream country music, not the loud guitar and songs about trucks that’s Matt’s heard over the years, but slower and much more fiddles. Maybe folk is a better way to describe it, but he can’t ask Marci because though she’ll listen to it on her computer or iPod while they study together, it’s always through earbuds and he’s not supposed to hear that.

 

And that’s actually how his whole secret gets revealed. It’s the end of Sophomore year, and they’re walking across campus form the library at 4 AM. Matt’s tired enough he’s a little bit loopy and he doesn’t realize he’s humming till Marci stops abruptly, dragging him to a stop too. She tugs her arm out of his and steps in front of him, folding them tightly against her chest. “How do you know that song?” she asks, sharper than Matt was expecting, and it snaps him awake enough to realize he’d been humming one of the maybe country/maybe folk songs Marci had been listening to earlier.

“Oh uh,” he starts and then doesn’t know how to finish it, and they stand there for a moment in the middle of College Walk facing each other and not speaking. “I heard it around I guess?”

Marci rolls her eyes so hard Matt can _feel_ it and he cringes internally. “Matthew Michael Murdock, that is a song my cousin sent me from a local band he likes. In _Alabama_. I highly doubt that anybody else ‘around’ has been playing it. Now tell me what’s going on.”

Matt fidgets with his cane strap. “Could we… not do this out here though?”

Marci looks around and flings her arms out. “We’ve got basically this whole campus to ourselves Matt, there’s not anywhere more private than this.”

Matt sighs. “Okay um, well, maybe we should sit.”

Matt had imagined the ways he would wind up telling Marci about his senses before but this wasn't one of them. They wind up sitting a few steps under Alma, and after an initial outburst of disbelief, Marci has stayed relatively silent, letting Matt talk and explain himself. When he’s done, the air is still and back to that eerie mostly silence of 4 AM (though never truly silent for Matt).

Finally Marci lets out a long breath. “Jesus Christ Matthew. That’s a lot to dump on a girl.”

Matt shrugs helplessly. “Sorry?”

She nods then punches him in the arm as hard as she can, which is pretty damn hard. “That’s for lying to me,” she says firmly and before he can even open his mouth to protest, she says, “no no. Like, I get why you wouldn’t say something at first _obviously._ But we’ve been best friends for _two years_ Matt. Were you ever gonna tell me?” Matt keeps his mouth shut, feeling guilty. “I didn’t think so.”

They sit side by side in silence for a few minutes longer till Marci finally pushes herself up, dusting off her clothes. She gets one step down before she turns back to Matt, hands on hips. “Well? Are you just going to mope there all night or are you going to escort me back to the dorm like a _gentleman_?” Matt laughs, a sharp burst of relief, and scrambles up quickly to join he. Marci hesitates a moment, arm outstretched like she would normally do to link them together. “You don’t actually need this do you?”

He ducks his head to try and hide his rising blush and shrugs. “I get around fine but uh… it’s not… I like walking with you.”

She’s quiet for a moment and he gets the distinct feeling she’s studying him intensely and then she nods sharply once and links their arms like usual. “Okay. Now,” she says as she drags him along, “is there anything interesting going on around here?” And for the short walk to the dorms, he tells her about his world.


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, they stumble their way out of finals to find that summer’s beginning in earnest. And Foggy’s still around. It is officially the longest relationship Marci has ever had, and the second best friendship _Matt’s_ ever had.

But Matt… well, he has a problem. He’s happy for Marci, and he’s happy for Foggy. They’re good together, and they both deserve that. But hanging around both of them has started feeling kind of unbearable. He’s self-aware enough to recognize jealousy when he feels it. After all, he’s been feeling it on a lowkey extent towards most of Marci’s previous relationships even when he didn’t want to admit it. What he’s acutely uncomfortable with _now_ is that he’s not sure _who_ he’s jealous of.

Because sure, he’s maybe been a _little bit_ in love with Marci since freshman year, and he hasn’t known Foggy _nearly_ that long, but somehow he’s found his way right up there next to Marci at the top of Matt’s list of ‘totally unattainable crushes.’

Maybe it’d be easier to deal with, if he had any space from them but A. he doesn’t really _want_ space from either of them and B. without the hectic schedule of classes, there’s even less than there was before. Their social circle dwindles as people head back home or to vacation destinations or summer programs, but all three of them remain.

Foggy was born and raised in the city and is bouncing around, helping at some of his _many_ extended family member’s businesses this summer, and Matt and Marci both have internships and are keeping their apartment for the summer. Foggy technically is staying with his parents but he spends a lot of time at their place to get, as Foggy described woefully to Matt one night in late May, some peace and quiet from the approximately a _million_ relatives who inhabit and visit the Nelson’s home. (Matt pats his shoulder and tells him he’s always welcome, and neither of them mention that he leaves his hand there perhaps a little too long.)

-

Marci leaves for the annual Stahl trip to Colorado on the first of July. Which leaves Matt the only one to be invited to the annual _Nelson_ Fourth of July barbeque.

“Come on Matty,” Foggy wheedles as they’re walking back from Trader Joe’s the afternoon after Marci leaves (that morning, she’d ruffled Matt’s sleep messy hair and kissed Foggy on the cheek and commanded them to stay out of trouble, before hopping in her cab to the airport. Matt already misses her). “It’ll be a load of fun. We’ve got roof access so we can _properly_ barbeque, and I know this isn’t so important to you, but it’s also a pretty sweet view of the fireworks. And, most importantly I think, since it’s not actually a family oriented holiday like Thanksgiving and Christmas, it’s pretty much only the _cool_ family members who show up like my Aunt Vera and her wife who works for the ACLU and _not_ Racist Uncle Joey.”

Matt listens to Foggy ramble on about the festivities and the cool family who will be there while he considers. He has mixed feelings, at best, about the Fourth of July. He used to love it as a kid. He’d go with his dad to see the fireworks every year, but ever since the accident and his senses… Mostly what he gets from it is the _too loud_ and disorientating nature of fireworks without even the benefit of seeing them, and the lingering acrid smell of them for days after. Fourth of July usually finds him holed up with headphones and a book, not at large gatherings (which are their own kind of mixed bag).

He’d probably say no if it was anyone else, but since it’s Foggy and since he’s so sincere and genuine in his invitation, he finally cuts off the long monologue about the different food options to say, “Yeah okay, I’ll come.”

Foggy immediately gives a little whoop of excitement that startles some pigeons and Matt’s sure if they weren’t both carrying multiple grocery bags, he’d have been pulled into a tight hug. As it is, Foggy knocks their shoulders together and promises, “You won’t regret it. My mom is going to _love_ you.” Matt rolls his eyes as Foggy launches into a story about the last barbeque, and he ignores the little flutter in his chest

 

Foggy sticks close to Matt’s side the day of the barbeque which is good because he hadn’t exactly been exaggerating the size of his family all those times and Matt’s more than a little disoriented. He’s introduced to (and hugged by) more people than he can keep track of and he’s infinitely glad for Foggy’s running commentary on who everyone is and how exactly they’re related. He uses Foggy as a focal point to keep himself from getting overwhelmed in the crowd, and fields questions about his major and his career path and listens eagerly to the stories about Foggy. They’re not all embarrassing (a lot of them are just funny or cute) but Foggy moans and groans through all of them anyway even as he laughs along and adds relevant details.

 

“Is it ableist,” Foggy asks at one point, “that I’m kind of glad you _can’t_ see all the truly awful childhood photos my dad would’ve inevitably pulled out?” (Matt might not have _seen_ them but Marci had described them in great, delighted detail after _her_ first visit to the Nelson’s. He chooses not to mention this.)

Matt pretends to consider and pinches his fingers together. “Eh, a little bit? But I’ll forgive you on the condition that if photos of _my_ childhood ever turn up, you’re never allowed to speak about them. Deal?”

“Deal.” Foggy clinks his beer bottle against Matt’s to seal it.

 

Once the sun’s gone down and the first few fireworks go off, Matt finds himself slipping back into the stairwell that leads to the Nelson’s apartment. Pretty much everybody is on the roof now, so nobody sees when he flinches as the next one goes off, heart racing wildly. He sits on the stair and tries to breathe deeply and calm himself down. He recites that old sonnet to himself, trying to get a rhythm to follow but he only gets halfway through-- _Reversed thunder,  Christ-side-piercing spear, The six-days world transposing in an hour--_ before the next firework throws him off again.

It’s only a few minutes later that Foggy finds him. “Hey,” he says, sitting next to Matt and passing him a chilled bottle of water. “Are you okay?”

Matt gives him what he hopes is more a smile than a grimace and gratefully takes a sip of the water. “Yeah it’s just--” he manages to avoid a full body flinch but his jaw definitely clenches as another one goes off, “--not really a big fan of fireworks.”

“Hmm,” Foggy considers and then a moment later, he’s standing and tapping Matt’s arm to get him to stand too. “Come with me.”

They wind up in Foggy’s bedroom and the firework noise isn’t exactly gone or even muffled that much, but Foggy puts on music pretty much as loud as he can get it, and they just sit and talk. And… it helps. Foggy makes the occasional excursion to get more food and drinks, but otherwise, he seems content to hang out with Matt, which doesn’t do anything to alleviate that little flutter in Matt’s chest. It also doesn’t exactly help that the first time he comes back with more food, he sits right next to Matt and as the night wears on, he finds himself leaning closer and closer into Foggy till his heartbeat is much louder than the fireworks.

 

Foggy walks Matt home later, both laden down with so much food that Matt isn’t even sure it will all fit in the fridge. All in all, it’s one of the best Fourth of July’s he’s ever had.

(He’d gotten a goodbye hug and forehead kiss from Foggy’s mom too which absolutely _didn’t_ make Matt start tearing up, that was just the lingering smoke from the fireworks, nothing else.)


	5. Chapter 5

Something's been up with Marci and Foggy, ever since Marci came back with a glowing tan, a smattering of freckles and an arm in a sling.

The bus to Laguardia is long and mostly boring and he wishes Foggy hadn’t been working so they could have gone together. But he’s excited to see Marci again (it’s only been a week but he  _ missed _ her), so he makes the trek.

He waits in baggage claim for a while, keeping out of the way and trying to avoid any well meaning strangers by fiddling with his iPod. It doesn’t work though and he’s trying to explain to an older couple that he  _ really _ doesn’t need help--he’s meeting a friend, yes he’s sure they’re gonna show in just a minute, no I’m sure they’ll find me, no thank you I’m  _ fine _ \--so he doesn’t notice Marci coming down the escalator till she yells, “Hey Murdock!” across the room.

He excuses himself from the conversation with a strained smile and goes to meet her. Now that he knows she’s there, it’s difficult  _ not _ to notice that one of her arms is in a sling and she’s got two bags awkwardly balancing on her other shoulder.

She drops both bags when they reach each other and waves off Matt’s concern before he’s even able to say anything. “It’s just a sprain Murdock,” she says as she pulls him into a half hug, “no need to get your panties in a twist.”

Matt rolls his eyes and picks up the larger duffle bag. “You know, when you asked me to meet you at the airport, you  _ neglected _ to mention it was because you couldn’t carry all your bags.”

Marci swings the backpack over her shoulder and hooks her free arm around Matt’s, leading him to the right baggage carousel. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you or Foggy-bear to worry all week.”

“ _ All  _ week?” Marci’s heartbeat speeds up, and Matt narrows his eyes suspiciously. “ _ How _ exactly did you sprain your arm?”

Marci sighs and watches the carousel for a moment before answering, “I  _ might _ have… fallen down the stairs at the airport in Colorado.”

Matt laughs loudly and doesn’t bother ducking out of the way when she smacks his arm.

 

They make it back to their apartment easily enough, and when Foggy comes over after work, Matt heads out to give them a little privacy for their reunion (but of course not before he can laugh again as Marci explains the injury). When he comes back a few hours later (he spent most of the time at the gym), they’re both in the kitchen and there’s  _ something _ about the way they pause a moment before greeting him and the way he can feel them looking at him, that he can’t quite figure out.

And that  _ something _ sticks around, on the edges of conversations and in glances he’s not meant to see. It makes him decidedly nervous but he can’t figure out  _ why _ , or even how he’d bring it up to either of them since, ostensibly, they haven’t actually changed their behavior. So he tries to figure it out, and when that doesn’t work, he tries to ignore it.

-

Two weeks later, he and Foggy are having lunch (one of Foggy’s uncles has a shop near to Matt’s internship and their lunch hours coincide). Matt’s been occupied in politely rebuffing the waitress trying to flirt with him but he still notices that Foggy goes a little quiet across the table. After the waitress leaves, Matt can tell Foggy’s about to say something, so he waits. He’s not anticipating the question that comes though.

“You’ve got hot people throwing themselves at you left and right--don’t try to deny it,” he interrupts himself when Matt opens his mouth to protest, “--but I’ve never actually seen you agree to go out with any of them. Are you just not interested?” He sounds curious, not judgemental, but there’s that  _ something _ again, in the tilt of his head and the undertone of his heartbeat.

Matt shrugs and fidgets with his straw wrapper. “They’re not what I’m looking for,” he says, half honestly. In full honesty, he’s already found what he’s looking for.

“Well what  _ are _ you looking for then?”

Matt’s immediate instinct is to just blurt it out, ‘ _ you. You and Marci’ _ but he holds back, and, instead, he describes them without being too specific. Already being friends, already caring for each other. Strong convictions. Loyal to their friends. Funny without being mean. Smart without being condescending. “And,” he concludes finally, “understanding of all of,” he taps his glasses, “this stuff. Most people think they would be but they can’t really get beyond their preconceptions.”

When he’s done, Foggy is quiet for a moment, and then he reaches out and squeezes Matt’s hand that’s still holding onto the wrapper. “You deserve all that and more, Matty.”

Matt swallows hard around the flutter in his throat and he’s intensely glad that the waitress chooses that moment to bring their orders. He’s just as intensely disappointed that Foggy lets go and he spends the next few minutes trying to get his head on straight.


	6. Chapter 6

“Be honest, did you have fun?” Marci asks. The party has wound down, leaving just the three of them piled on the couch. Matt has somehow wound up in between them on the couch and he’s warm and happy and Foggy’s got one arm around his shoulders and Marci’s leaning into his side.

“It was perfect,” Matt answers truthfully. And then, because alcohol always loosens his tongue more than he would like, he adds, “It would’ve been perfect even if it was just the three of us eating ice cream but this was extra perfect. Thank you.”

_ Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss _ , his mind happily supplies, a line from the poem he had to memorize so long ago echoing around his head.

-

It’s seems like Marci’s invited their whole class--or at least, all of those who are still in the city for the summer--to the party (and he’s sure they’ll be getting plenty complaints from neighbors tomorrow) and instead of traditional presents, Marci’d encouraged gifts of alcohol, mixers, and snacks. If they wanted, they could probably stay drunk and fed for a whole week just off what’s on the counter alone, never mind the stuff that’s crowding out their fridge.

Matt has been trying not to impose too much on either of them, both of them. Has been trying to keep his feelings in check by keeping a little distance, so he doesn’t initiate a lot of contact and he tries not to linger in it too long. But it’s his birthday, so he allows himself to indulge in the touch when Foggy throws an arm around his shoulder, and when Marci grabs his hand to lead him to a pinata. He doesn’t pull back or away first, and neither of them seem inclined to either, only letting him go when they have to.

Matt’s not too fond of parties as a general rule. They’re hell on pretty much all of his senses and most of the time, just not worth it. But this party is different. Maybe because it’s  _ his _ or maybe because Marci and Foggy are making a point of keeping at least one of them near him at all times. They act as a focusing point, as he gets more and more drunk, and concentrating on them helps push the other, less desirable assaults to his senses to the background of his mind.

Happy birthday is sung and Foggy presents a homemade cake. Matt considers it doubtfully, having tasted Foggy’s previous attempts at baking (he couldn’t get the taste of those sour cream cherry scones out of his mouth for  _ weeks _ ) until Foggy laughs. “Don’t worry, I had  _ nothing _ to do with the actual baking. I promise I won’t try  _ that _ again anytime soon.” Most everyone gathered around laughs and the cake is quickly cut up and pieces passed around the room. Quieter, mostly just for Matt to hear, Foggy says, “It’s courtesy of my mom. She said to wish you a happy birthday too and let you know you’re invited for Sunday dinner next weekend.” 

Matt flushes and ducks his head to hide his smile as he digs into his slice of cake.

-

Eventually, Foggy makes them all get up to go to  _ actual beds _ . “I don’t know about you youngins but my back won’t stand me falling asleep sitting up,” he feigns a grouchy old man voice that makes Marci and Matt both giggle.

They stumble to the hall and pause in the mostly dark hallway before their separate doors. The air feels charged and Matt’s happy and a little giddy and he’s not sure what’s going to happen.

“Happy birthday,” Marci says, loud in the quiet apartment and then steps forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

Before Matt can properly react to that, Marci’s stepped back and Foggy’s stepped forward. “Happy birthday,” he echoes and kisses Matt’s other cheek.

And then they step apart and the doors close and Matt’s alone in his room, feeling like he’s on the edge of something… huge. Despite this jittery feeling he falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

-

In the morning, Matt feels like shit, so he stumbles to the bathroom, brushes his teeth till he can no longer taste tequila and then takes a shower. As he stands under the shower spray, he starts waking up more and can actually go over what happened last night. His stomach turns over, a mix of anxiety and hope. When he steps out, he can smell food being made and hear Marci and Foggy moving around in the kitchen.

He comes out of the bathroom in pursuit of the mouthwatering smell coming from the kitchen, in a loose shirt and lounge pants and his hair still damp and curling at the edges.

Foggy’s at the stove frying something and Marci is leaning against the counter drinking coffee when Matt walks in. Marci sets down her coffee cup, walks over to Matt, says, “You’re kind of a fucking idiot,” and then he barely has a moment to process as he cups his cheeks and kisses him square on the lips. And Matt… just melts. Marci is taller than him even when she’s not wearing her customary heels and that is  _ definitely _ something he’s into. “We like you too, you dumbass,” she says when they pull apart, both a little out of breath. “Right, Foggy-bear?”

“Well I wasn’t going to call him a dumbass and I might’ve gone right ahead and said ‘love’ but yeah that’s the gist.” He sounds flippant but Matt can hear the smile and the thrum of his pulse, anxious energy and happiness.

Marci tugs Matt over to the counter and gives him a cup of coffee. Then she swaps places with Foggy with a quick kiss, and then Foggy comes to stand in front of Matt. “Hey.” He reaches up a hand hesitantly but stops just short of touching Matt’s face. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Matt breathes and then Foggy brushes Matt’s still damp hair out of his face and his eyes flutter shut with it. Foggy cups his face and traces his cheek with his thumb and it’s soft and wonderful and Matt loves it but he’d also really like to be kissed right now, so he reaches out and grabs Foggy’s waist and then the back of his neck and presses forward. The kiss a little off center for a second but they correct easily enough. They make out against the counter and then they all eat lunch piled on the couch with a dumb show on and they they go back to bed for the rest of the day.

(The DTR talk as Foggy insists on calling it despite--or maybe because?--they both throw pillows at him when he does, isn’t as serious or as detailed as maybe it should be because they’re all still pretty tired and hungover. But hey, who’s to say how serious it should be? They know they love each other, and they’re all willing to try something new, even if it’s difficult, they all think it’s worth it.)

There’s things looming on the horizon that will almost definitely make this more difficult. Matt still hasn’t told Foggy about his senses, and that’s sure to be one hell of a conversation. Senior year is right around the corner and with that comes not only prepping for graduation but also applying for law schools. Will they all get accepted to the same ones? Could they make it long distance? But those are all worries for the future. For now, Matt finds himself wrapped in Foggy’s arms with one hand carding through Marci’s hair and he’s  _ happy _ as he drifts off back to sleep.

_ Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood,  _ _   
_ _ The land of spices; something understood.  _ __   



End file.
